Septem Macula
by TheDiiva
Summary: Action is not without consequence. But consequence is quite often bereft of reason. We only hate others because we see in the what we wish we saw in ourselves.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Septem Macula

**Genre**: Varrying,

**Rating**: T, possibly M later on.

**Language**: English

**Characters**: Mzuliive, Naeovex, Opal?, XaElerace, FliiAvery; mentions of Caim and Red and whatnot.

**Status**: In Progress

**Summery**: "Action is not without consequence. But consequence is quite often bereft of reason. We only hate others because we see in them what we wish we saw in ourselves."

**Notes**: Hey, Vox here.

Its been quite the while, has it not? Been a few years since i've written anything fan-like. However, this isn't particularly a fan fiction, perse. It involves my hybrids, which don't tie in with Drakengard or it's timeline whatsoever. However, as much as i've tried to fix this upcoming note, i just can't seem to make my hybrids the children of anyone besides Caim and rRd. Take this as you will, i don't care.

The title is misleading because there are not seven hybrids anymore, as I've gotten rid of Whisper and Avacyne, mostly because they were useless. The remaining hybrids (Mzuliive, Naeovex, Opal?, XaElerace, and FliiiAvery) will be looked into slowly but surely. Avacyne was sloth, due to his ability to see what will happen but his choices to never act to change them, while Whisper was gluttony, due to her past and her drakine ego issues. The chapters will go in order of birth and will centralize around either a character's musings or of an event.

Without further delay, let's get into things.


	2. Superbia

_**SUPERBIA**  
_

_The infinitely little have a pride infinitely great. -Voltaire_

There is little you can do to convince a madman that his insanity is hearsay, you cannot reason with snakes. However, insanity is to the insane as my faults are to me. Madmen attempt to convince those around them they are sound of mind.

Just as I attempt to convince those who look up at me I am faultless.

There is no greater lie that could be told, there is no sky behind the moon. It doesn't matter, this tipsy turkey, eternally endless masquerade of trading myself for another self who in sequence must pry his own face of and glue yet another upon the bones that may just be lies within themselves. It it worthless to think that I am perfect, that I am without err, that everything I've ever done has been void of selfishness, of vengeance, of hate and of ignorance. No no, I am king, I am his _majesty_. I am expected to know all, I am expected to be whole and unwavering, I most certainly cannot-**_cannot_**- have faults or mistakes or any semblance of _humanity_ because I am a leader, because tens of thousands of eyes look to me every second of every waking day and thus it is only logical to assume that, gods be damned, I do not **err**.

Because its easier to believe that your king doesn't make mistakes than to realize that he most certainly _does_.

But there's a certain special road that must be walked, a bridge that must be cross, a raging sea to endure with a sinking ship and that road bridge ship is called arrogance. Oh the audacity of man, the gall of humanity, to be so conceited in themselves as to convince themselves it's only dark because its night, not because their eyes are sown shut. Man, with all it's witless, worthless battles of blood and word, all it's completely dumb excuses for why things are wrong, yet not just that, but for why they continue to worsen things. Man is of fault in and of itself because he continues to dig a pit even though the only things he'll run into are the earths mottled innards or hell. He never questions that perhaps he's not flying, but perhaps simply falling too fast to the hard black concrete of failure. Arrogance is a plague that knows no cure because you can't heal the dead, you can't fix the ashen vase.

But this road, this bridge or sea, is the worst path of all because once you cross it there is no return, there is no sanity. This is the path that leads from arrogance to ignorance to sheer idiocy because it is only a _fool_ who would actually attempt to believe his own facade, his own dance of lies and pointless grandeur. Only a fool would think himself so high and mighty, so exceptionally asinine, as to actually think he does no wrong, he cannot err nor ever be mistaken. What gall this fool does have, to think he is so utterly **perfect**. The nerve! But every leader is destined to become this fool because it doesn't matter how hard they try or how long they fight it will never be enough. Every king and queen and emperor and empress are destined to be so foolish until they rot upon the earth not yet dead yet not quite alive anymore, until they finally give in and their stone cold corpse is tossed into a hole and history tells only what it sees fit. And so too will I grow as cold as does the waning moon as it retreats to its darkened lair, as does the bleeding flowers that weep and refuse to grow. These leaders, these fools. But therein lies his, and every other leaders, errors, because insanity is too simple an excuse. Therein lies the reasonings. Perhaps he's ripped his face off far too many times, perhaps he spoken far too many words, perhaps he's danced this deadly tango far too many times that in the end he just stops holding onto the comforting, _desperate_ hope that _he'll never be so conceited, so ignorantly dumb as to listen to his own tongue_. Perhaps he simply gets lost in the maze of who he once was and who his damnable position has forced him to become, of what he tries to be but simply can never **achieve**.

Or perhaps it is simply the fact that he has so many errors and mistakes and faults that he can no longer hide to any side of them, the blaringly obvious proof of his greatest lie. He feels guilty because for hundreds of years he's lied to the people he cares for the most, and by crossing the road of arrogance he may find some peace from his own overbearing, overfed conscience. You can try to drink way the sorrows, try to become drunk enough to forget they exist but that doesn't change the fact that they **are** and they always will be because no matter how many times you say or how foolishly you believe it-**_you have faults._**

And no matter how great of a liar you are, they will always be what you are remembered for.

The agony of being prideful is the fact that you know you are not as good as you say you are.

But as it may be, I would rather be pridefully blind and ignorant than drowning in my own ocean of self pity and deceit.

At least if I'm prideful, I can pretend to know who I am.

I am **Mzuliive**. I am _**pride**_.


End file.
